


Shadows Left By Fire

by Marenorchid



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:11:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8503753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marenorchid/pseuds/Marenorchid
Summary: In shadows left by fire in a sunless world, a new lord rises to the throne of Londor and a sentinel awakes from the sleep of death, bound from the moment of resurrection, both are shackled by duty.





	1. The Lord and the Child

The child woke with a start, she always did, it felt like falling but before she hit the ground, they woke up next to Anri. In their parent’s fitful sleep, they had nudged their child awake. Gracian looked at the features of the only one who gave her affection, one who insisted they be called by their name, not by any parental title or affectionate term. Anri’s features, normally unreadable and marbled with complacency like a mask made of stone, had knit their brow and formed their delicate features into a grimace. She never really got to look deeply at the face of her caregiver, they always had business to attend to, leaving poor Gracian to go about her own accord. But as busy as Anri was, they made time at the end of the day to spend with their child.  
       Careful not to wake Anri, the child placed a gentle kiss on their forehead and their features softened again to another expression their child never saw in their waking hours: contentment and relief, as if a mask had been lifted and Gracian could see Anri’s real face, a gentle and placid countenance that they had forgotten in their unhappy marriage, a softly sighing relic of a happier time. Gracian always wondered why her parents never seemed to spend time together or even see eye-to-eye. She supposed that Anri was afraid of the dark, for they had a great dislike for the comforting darkness that enveloped the world, the only light being a dim glow in the sky.  
        Nighttime was her favorite part of daily routine, when she would slip into the hallways and sometimes, when the night air was particularly cold, she’d wear her coat as a cape and pretend to be the Lord of Hollows, a rather reclusive and imposing person whose chambers were always sealed. Maybe they wouldn’t be so scary, thought the naive child, if someone were to hold their hand and speak kindly to them or kiss them, as Anri always did for little Gracian. Maybe they’d open up to people and actually talk, as far as the child knew, she had never once heard a word from their frigid Lord.  
The Lord of Hollows armor was a plain grey and they wore a green scarf, it seemed unbecoming of a lord to wear the armor of a lowly knight but they had insisted on it, not out of humility but out of habit. Gracian wanted her own set of armor when she got older, she practically begged Anri to let her try on theirs. Anri, as distant as their stare travelled beyond the walls of the castle, would be grounded at any mention of their armor, as if in fear.  
       Gracian slipped off of the bed and, as they always did when the world was asleep, they ventured into the hallway to explore the nighttime world. The lights were always off and as many doors shut as were opened during the night, the perfect time for the young child to sneak about. They crept right through the doors and wandered the hallway, their gaze permanently accustomed to the dark.  
       They noticed something that was amiss, something that made them jittery with excitement, a childish joy from knowing they could do something they would normally never get to do. The doors to their Lord’s chamber were wide open, they could see the desk that they did their work on and papers were haphazardly scattered about. Wandering up to the door, they looked into the normally closed off room.  
       They didn’t notice at first but standing in front of a large window overlooking the city, the Lord of Hollows stood so still they practically blended in with the other fixtures of the room, their grey armor barely standing out against the gloomy colors of the stone. They stood looking out over Londor like a bird of prey perched on a tree, their shoulders in a permanent slouch. They blended in with the shadows, as if they would dissipate if the light of a torch were to grace their presence, a fleeting figure.  
       They wanted to look more closely at their parent maybe if they were to grab onto their coat they would dissolve into the darkness of the eternal gloom. So, softly the child walked and even softer they grabbed the solemn dust’s cape,and to their surprise, their lord and parent did not dissipate but turn to them and make a sharp and quiet sound like a gasp or maybe a sigh, what it was, they could not hear beyond the muffle of the Lord’s helmet.  
       Their Lord looked around cautiously and then, to Gracian’s shock, lifted the visor of their simple knight’s helmet. To the child, their face looked like nothing but darkness, their other parent seemed to them like a mass of murky gloom that had taken shape to hide away and offer a piece of itself to give life to a new and more physical form. Maybe that was why they had always locked themself up, to keep the darkness of their shape from fading away into the common shade of the world.  
       They looked up at the large metalbound shadow and smiled, widely with all the amicability they could muster. And from within the depth of the helm stirred a chuckle, soft and raspy, as if choked by dust. Giving the room one more cautious glance, the Lord quickly planted a kiss on Gracian’s brow and closed their helmet once more, as if to keep the gloom from spilling out, their own private little darkness. Taking the scarf from off of their neck, they wrapped it around the child’s shoulders like a shawl, a green shadow given just to them. With that, the Lord turned them around and pointed towards the hallway, gesturing for them to go back to their world of nighttime exploring.  
       The bolted out of the door and rushed into Anri’s room, they jumped onto the bed and shook Anri awake, startled and confused, they looked puzzled at the excited child.  
“Oh, have you had a bad dream?” Anri asked as they drew their child closer.  
“Anri, did you know that our Lord is nothing but a shadow?” Gracian said to them as they touched Anri’s cheeks, “They gave me some darkness so I can be a shade like them!”


	2. The Lord of the Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After awakening along with the frail few exiles that rose anew to greet a new lord, Horace finds his way to Londor in search of Anri.

       Horace finally found it, after months of searching, he had finally found his only hope of reuniting with Anri. Londor, the city of hollows. It was just as drab as he expected, illuminated only by the sparse light in the sky, its gothic spires and twisting streets made navigation difficult but he pressed on to the castle, where he had suspected Anri would be.  
       The pilgrim that had spoken to Anri and guided them hailed from it, they only really spoke to Anri as he would have nothing to do with them, after overhearing the pilgrim tell Anri that they had a grand fate and that their lord needed something of them, he begged Anri to cut off ties with them. Although Anri obliged to his request, he couldn’t help a nagging feeling of dread that washed over him.  
        He was not an exceptionally smart man, but after years of hunting the guilty, he knew how to track someone. He remembered the pilgrim that had spoken to Anri about their grand purpose, he remembered the strength that they granted, he remembered two things more clearly than any of the others: the first was that there was a land of Hollows, and it was called Londor, the second, was that its lord needed something from Anri after the completion of their duty. Those details had let him to the conclusion that Anri, if still alive, would be in Londor.  
       Upon his awakening, Horace found that he was not alone in his rousing from the sleep of death; pilgrims of Londor weeped in joy as they looked up at the darkened sky, crying out with tears of jubilance. Although some died upon the sight of the sky in almost rapturous exultation, many had started to make their way back in haste to welcome their new lord, delighted at the thought of finally being able to go home after their exile. They prayed for the mercy of the new lord. Horace had followed a flock of them back to the city, their slow pace wracking his nerves.  
        The streets of the city were empty and those present slowly made their way towards the heart of the city to a large castle with spires that rose to the dreary sky and towered as the tallest building in the city. He would find Anri there, he knew it. The pilgrims that he had followed quickly blended into the dark of the alleyways that they had been familiar with in their former life and disappeared, leaving Horace to find another group to chase. He made his way to the center of the city, to where he supposed most of the people had congregated. It had to be for a very important reason, as all activity had dropped and even the lame and slow made their way there at their fastest pace.  
        It was like a ghost town, stands barely had enough time to cover up their wares, shops were abandoned in the rush, garbage littered the streets. Everyone had gone to see whatever important occasion had taken place at the city’s hub.  
His black armor would help him blend in well with the crowd, all he had to do was act normal, and try to seem familiar with whatever strange happening they had congregated to see.  
  He pressed on through the city until he was in the back of a large body of townsfolk that had gathered at the base of the sable building.  
Raising his eyes towards the sight that all had gathered to see, his jaw beneath the metal of his helm dropped, and he stood frozen.  
       From a large balcony on one of the gothic spires of the church-like castle stood a very familiar and dear form: Anri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank's so much for reading! I will try to make the next update really quick because of the brevity of this chapter.


	3. A Familiar Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short flashback into one of Anri's nights spent in the bed of the Lord of Hollows as two souls brought together through secret betrayal feel an old familiar sting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit more inappropriate than the previous two so be forewarned.

       Anri lay under them, exhausted and in tears, not wanting to think on what they had just done. The Lord of Hollows didn’t get off of them to lay beside them but loomed over them, Anri didn’t dare look them in the eyes, the small knight didn’t even want to make a noise or breath, so ashamed that they felt they could at that moment disappear, to be like the one they longed to be with: dead. But against the will of their mind, they panted and shook, the uncomfortable pressure of their lord pressed close to them anchoring them from drifting off as they did during daylight hours.  
       Anri never said a word, never begged for them to stop, never cried out in discomfort at every sharp pain, never even asked them if they could do something else. Anri simply complied, and with the solemn acceptance came a new and unfamiliar throb: betrayal. The Lord of Hollows kissed them and without even thinking they did the same, grasping at their back. If they could never find another person to stay beside, then unhappiness would have to do for them, nothing frightened them more than being alone again, not even being used. Even if they had to lay with such a fiend every night and struggle with that negligible and sharp sting. Even if every time they felt filled by the Lord of Hollows they felt emptied of him, the one who was their constant gnaw and their fading infatuation. The acute sense of sadness had faded to a chronic and insurmountable ailment.  
       Love and devotion was something that had constantly pushed itself into Anri’s mind, painful as it was, the constant need for it filled them with a yearning they had never wanted to feel. Their liege’s hands pressed gently between their legs on their thighs, opening them up but only physically, had long since been an almost nightly drudgery.  
       Anri grabbed the Lord of Hollows face and brought it close to their own, resting them upon their shoulder with both of their chests pressed together, that worship that they thought they were supposed to have felt more like an affair, an unofficial and wrong love, a lawless passion. They leaned in close and whispered a single question.  
       “Do you love me,” Anri held them so close they couldn’t pull away, “my liege?”  
       The Lord of Hollows knew who Anri was thinking about to get them to ask that- and it was someone who wasn’t them, someone who had been gone for years, someone that they had killed. They had known that it was probably Yuria’s hand that separated Anri and Horace, they had never wanted to ask Yuria if it was true because they had been scared of the truth that was blaring in their face. But now, as Anri cried underneath them with tears for someone else, they felt that old and harrowing guilt. The poor knight was tearful, as they had been the first night as they thought their lord had slept. Tearful as the night after, the night after that, and on until that present night.  
       But their sin was want, from the moment they wanted Anri when they met them, they were bound to this fate. Was it really love if the bond between the two was borne out of the selfish desires of one? They felt love, along with guilt, despair, and to their shame, jealousy over what Horace had and they didn’t: Anri’s complete and total attachment. Yes, they did love Anri, no they never put Anri over that selfish love that was rooted in their own transgression.  
       No matter their answer, they knew that Anri could never trust them again, if they told Anri of their love, they would have been half lying, for no one in love would do that: but they had, and in violating Anri’s love, they had too forsaken their own. Had it all been for lust, they would have considered Anri a loss, a thing to be thrown aside, but the oddly familiar and comforting presence and even more reassuring embrace of their unhappy lover made them feel a sting that they had never known before.  
       “Yes,” they said as they put their shaking hands around Anri’s thighs and lifted them, “I do.”  
       Along with the familiar flood of guilt came that familiar want, and again, they kissed Anri through muffled sobs: this time from both of them.


	4. A Simple Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reeling from the abrupt revelation, Horace flees to the town. Not without drawing the attention of a watchful and mourning figure in blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I mentioned that I would consistently update, that was the past me and she was a liar and is now dead. Sorry about the wait, holy shit. There won't be another hiatus like this, I promise.

       Horace looked up at the balcony where the Lord had made their announcement: that Lord, apparently, was Anri of Astora: his best friend. He stood in solemn despair at the figure that stood on the balcony looking down at their subjects.  
       They were as young as he remembered, their face dotted with freckles, and a distant gaze portrayed in the blackness of their eyes. Their black hair was slicked back as always and covered in a blue hood, their red scarf replaced by a green one, the blue of their armor looked awfully faded, as if they had let go of its appearance in the time he was gone. They added a cloak over their armor, coarse and dark with grey trim, it beared a semblance to the dresses worn by their advisors but it was pulled loosely over their form. Anri had also, over time gained a healthy weight, they seemed much less undersized and they looked much stronger.  
       After all those years alone without him, he wondered, if their feelings for him had lost their gentle and fragile affection, he wondered if they would hate him for not coming sooner, he wondered if they would be mad at him for even coming, what if they were happy were they stood looking down at all their subjects? But most of all, he feared they wouldn’t remember him, maybe in the bustle of their busy rule, they had lost him? After all, it seemed like they did move on with another, enough to inherit Lordship. Nevertheless he had to reach them, even if it would only be a goodbye, even if they didn’t want anything to do with him after.  
       Three figures stood by their side, one wearing a black dress, another wearing dark armor, and the last he could not see as they had shrunk into the darkness behind Anri soon after he showed up and seemingly disappeared from sight in the gloom. He came late for whatever they had just announced and was pushed to the back of the gathered crowd, his armor disguised him well among the hollows draped in shades of black and brown, he fit right in. As long as he kept his helmet on, he could avoid detection as a healthy undead.  
       He needed a way into the castle, to have audience with Anri, perhaps he would disguise himself as a knight in search of a Lord. This land seemed to be lacking in knights that were strong of arm, they relied on stealth and deceptions. He didn’t know much about this land, but judging by what he had connected between the pilgrim and Anri’s disappearance, he needed to find them. Desperation took a hold of where fear was supposed to be and he even considered breaking in, an awful idea, he knew, but the most likely to work of any he could configure.  
       He stumbled away from that place, he couldn’t think while in its shadow, knowing Anri was so close yet unreachable. The streets were crowded again, back to their natural bustle, he needed to find a place out of sight and away from all the noise, it was too loud for him to concentrate and he felt overwhelmed.  
       He stumbled into the shade of one of the buildings and leaned on it, crossing his arms to feel secure again. He only needed enough time to gather his thoughts before setting a plan into motion. If he had escaped from a cathedral filled to the brim with deacons and surrounded by massive guards with crossbows and swords all while pulling along Anri’s crying form when he was a just a child armed with nothing but wit, he could find a way into a castle as a fully armored adult.  
       He had lost his halberd but in his navigation replaced it with the only reasonable and non-broken weapon he could find, a sword that he had found in the Catacombs, a little shabby but it had to do, although swords were more Anri’s specialty and he hadn’t much experience with them himself. The sharp blade was black and the hilt was wrapped in grey cloth, he didn’t like it, it seemed too short for him, he would have to be more careful if he got into a real altercation as the range on his halberd made him unaccustomed to such close combat.  
       He was so absorbed in thought that he barely noticed two ironclad knights step out into the square beyond his shadowy refuge and start to question the people. Their armor was unmistakable from the church with it’s dark and tapered shaw and black finish; they both looked imposing, he wondered what they had come for- who they had come for. He thought about running away but his curiosity made him stick around to try to see what the peculiar knights were doing so soon after an address from their lord. They seemed to be asking around as they searched for something, he was glad that he didn’t stand out against the drab building and around the similarly gloomy denizens. Other people seemed similarly nervous about the knights’ presence and had sunken into the alleys and buildings, the dimness cloaking them.  
       Until of course they turned around and pointed right at him, he could feel their cold gazes burning into him through his armor and their helmets. When he thought that the fear in his heart was replaced by desperation, he underestimated just how multifaceted his feelings could be- because at that time he was definitely filled with fear, unadulterated dread to be precise. Turning on his heel, he made a break for it.  
       The knights quickly took chase and in a rather odd and almost comical pursuit, the three heavily clad knights ran through the alleyways, each in great irritation at the burden of their weighty armor. Beggars quickly bundled up to rush out of their way as they bulky figures passed, thieves and mercenaries stood from safe and suspicious nooks to peer at the passing commotion. Horace quickly turned down a new path at a pace so quick he almost slipped on the filth on the ground. He looked back and to his surprise, only one of the two knights had followed him thus far.  
       He was so distracted in wondering as the where the other knight was that he almost ran face first into the side of a building, the alley had ended dead. He had neither the agility, swordsmanship, or luck of Anri. He turned on his heel to face his foe, the sword that he had found was already gripped so tightly in his hands that his knuckles turned white. This was his first real conflict since his resurrection and he wasn’t going to go down without a fight, not when so much was at stake, not when he had come so far. The knight was alone now, he could take them if he played his cards right.  
       “Speak thy part, why has one such as thee come here?” the knight asked, her voice calm but strained by heavy breath, she brandished her blade and pointed it at him. There was no harshness in her tone, just a simple question. Had she chased him down all this way just to ask a question? How annoying, though he who couldn’t say a single word to sate her demand.  
       He didn’t know what to do. He had no tongue, unless she expected him to take off his helmet and show her his nonexistent tongue, he could do nothing. He shrugged, a form of communication he knew she’d understand, and with his free hand, pointed to his mouth hoping she would understand. He was almost relieved that instead of just brandishing her blade and cutting him down, she was trying to speak to him, not even with the harsh and irate tones he was used to from people in that world where time is too precious to waste on chatter.  
       “Have thou no tongue to speak?” not a hint of surprise or annoyance was in her voice, another simple question from someone who seemed to be fishing for answers.  
       He nodded, not knowing why this woman was so comfortable talking to a man she had chased down a shady alleyway and had pulled a blade on her. He tilted his head questioningly at her and lowered his weapon. This knight was not here to kill him. He knew that they were under a special order from their lord, that he had been given grace.  
       The knight suddenly turned around as if to walk away, leaving him puzzled. Before he could react, he felt a sudden impact on the back of his head and the world around him in the quiet alleyway blurred and spun. He heard the sharp crack of what had impacted his skull, cold metal, the blunt side of a sword. Turning to face his previously unknown assailant, he didn’t get far before falling pitifully to the ground. His vision faded to a smothering darkness and for some reason he didn’t care.


	5. A Lord and the Sentinel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up to a strange place, Horace finally meets the odd lord from the spire of the church. But even with strange new answers and an odd awakening, only time could tell where Anri had been spirited to.

       Gracian looked down at the man who lay asleep on their bed, she had ordered her knights to find him as soon as she saw him at the edge of the crowd. He was just like how Anri told them- down to the smallest details of his appearance. He was plain and very tall but somehow fit the very valiant and handsome description Anri had given him with his rusty brown hair and tan skin.  
       He had a strong jaw and slight underbite, his nose was sharp and long, features that gave him a brutish and rugged look. But his brow was soft and even in his sleep portrayed the calm and intelligence of a proper knight. His dark russet hair was thinning in the front despite his otherwise youthful appearance. He looked peaceful, almost content, but the dark circles around his eyes betrayed a stress beyond what a normal human should experience.  
       He didn’t seem real to them, like a legend or a dream. They never expected to meet him in the flesh so they had never prepared for that day. As if to confirm his existence, they reached out and gently touched his face, quickly retracting their hand at the realization of how intrusive that would be. They already found it odd that they’d sit and watch him sleep. They had brought a piece of parchment and charcoal so he could ask them questions, so that he could tell them about the things Anri never wanted to speak of.  
       He looked so peaceful that they felt that they would feel guilty for waking him, it would be a crime to stir someone in such a pristine state. So silent and calm, his feature with the untroubled apathy of a dead man’s.  
       They thought that it would be better if they had stayed with him until he had gotten up, as waking up in the bed of a stranger in an unfamiliar abode would be incredibly stressful even for a man used to unfamiliar change. Without a word, they shook his hand, gently as if he could break.  
       Rousing from the peace of dreams, he brushed their hand away with his and slowly opened his eyes. He looked at them with wide brown eyes full of shock as if unable to process who they were, and then he bolted upright. With a swift motion, he scooped Gracian into his arms in a grip that she sworn would have hurt if she had been more frail and if her knights hadn’t stripped him of his metal armor.  
       “I…” She knew this would hurt for him, “I’m not Anri.”  
       He loosened his grip and looked puzzled, he had taken notice of how different their voice was from their parent’s. Stepping back, he shot them a shocked and questioning look. The more he looked at them, the more different they seemed from his friend. They stood taller, had broader shoulders, and most prominently of all, had dark curls tucked into their hood.  
       “You must have questions,” Gracian reached their hands out to calm him down, “I just hope that I have the answers you seek.”  
       She handed him the parchment along with the charcoal, trying to look as sincere as possible. After all, she had just kidnapped him and taken away every form of defense he had. Gracian knew that she had already made a terrible and traumatizing first impression. He took it and cautiously scribbled one word.  
       “You?”  
       “I’m Gracian,” she looked slightly proud of her title, “The Lord of Hollows and keeper of this city. I’m… Uh… I’m Anri’s child. But fret not, I am a friend to you. And have been waiting years for this moment.”  
       Horace looked shocked, Anri had a child? And they were already an adult, a ruler at that, they looked old enough to be his age. He had travelled all that way just to find out that the lover he was searching for had moved on and had even started a family. If Anri was here, if Anri had raised their child and lived with their spouse, maybe they had no want for him. And despite his shock, he felt an acute pain, mixed with bitter, biting nostalgia.  
       “Anri?”  
       Gracian looked away, as if thinking, not sad, just in thought. Like one recalling a message or a simple memory. They looked at him, an apology written on their face. They gripped both of his hands and pulled them both into a crouch, so low Horace had to sit on the floor. Bad news. Grievous news.  
       “You’re here a few years too late to see them.”  
       He was glad that she had made him sit down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this seemed like a filler, I'm excited to get to the next chapters.


	6. Unwanted Conviction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fires fade and so do convictions, Horace awakes and with his mind made, he sets to work on giving up.

       They were gone. All that time he spent to find them and he could have just laid back down in the water of the lake and died. Spinning memories and a vertigo that stung the back of his throat and gave ringing to his ears brought him back to that damp, dark, and miserable place. He couldn’t breath, his chest felt like it would burst and his eyes stung, pins and needles shot stinging down the nerves in his arms and up his neck.  
       Dark, all he could hear was the splash of water and the never-ending firing of the ballista, he could feel the darksign burning. He could feel himself hollow. He didn’t quite remember losing them but he did. A flash of light and the sharp sound of an explosion sent his mind back into a haze. He fell. He fell and wandered to that damp inlet and there he would die. He panicked, panic that smothered and before he knew it the world was black again.   
       Then, softly, somewhere from outside the range of his troubled remembrance of panic came a sound, a touch, the splash of water. Then standing there was a knight clad all in grey iron armor, the armor of a common knight of poor renown. He recognized them from earlier at the Road of Sacrifices near the Crucifixion Woods, they had taken a keen interest in his companion. They waded through the water cautiously with their hands extended, seemingly trying to reason with him. They stood no more than a foot away from him and without even thinking, without knowing why, they reached out and touched his shoulder; gently and with care. The way Anri did when he was plagued by the panic that had taken root in him since fleeing from Aldrich.  
       No, thought the mute man as he broke from the memories and steadied his broken breath, it wasn’t Anri. It wasn’t that grey-clad knight either. And she was teetering between a illusion and reality, that woman that was standing before him. A voice different from both of theirs was calling him and without much of a choice, he had looked up to it.   
       Opening his eyes, he awoke to the room again, although this time he was on the floor, leaning against something he couldn’t see at the moment. He looked at his hands and then up at the woman standing in front of him. She was shaking his shoulders in a way that was less kindly than the gentle push in his dream.   
       “Horace! Horace, are you alright!” Gracian yelled in a panic.  
Of course he wasn’t, he had just panic attacked into unconsciousness, but like he had done with Anri and like he had done his entire life, he simply lied. With a nod of his head, he grabbed the hand that roughly shook his shoulder and gently put it back to its master who, to his knowledge had not the slightest clue of how hard she was shoving him.  
       “Do you need anything? I-I don’t know what happened?” Gracian looked like she would have a panic attack, “I thought you were dying!”  
        Just what I need, thought Horace, to scare Anri’s legacy to death with my own breakdown.   
       He couldn’t bring himself to stand, his knees felt weak and his mind felt dull, but with the numbing of his feelings, he felt a conviction that he didn’t want to feel. Not so soon. As a Blue Sentinel his job was to protect, and he was no stranger to losing fights and failing duty. He did what he always did when he felt loss; try to ignore it.   
       He wasn’t in a rush to stand, he didn’t have anything he wanted to do. Then, like a betrayer, his mind spun itself in webs and all thoughts of Anri got caught up in his ideas of the future. And in that moment, although he felt like a traitor, he decided on the fate he wanted for himself. He wanted to run away, he was going to leave. He didn’t want to care how guilty he would feel.  
       Willing himself to stand, Horace pulled himself up and on shaky legs wobbled forward to go. His armor was on one of the dressers, black, dull, home. Gracian was next to him, not touching him but waiting to see if he would fall. He felt the unsteadiness melt away as he walked and as he reached for his armor, Gracian took his hand in hers. She didn’t seem all that smart to him, but if she was anything like Anri she would understand what he wanted to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to fund an international prayer circle for all the artists who's fics are going to become AUs with the imminent addition of the dlc that will most likely be Londor. RIP to our youth and you can call this the funeral


	7. Quiet Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to Anri and Horace's escape, a quiet vow, and a knight who's only wish was to protect his friend.

       “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Anri looked at him, shame and guilt washed over him all at once. He didn’t want to die in that place. Taking all of them would slow him down, get them all caught, the best chance they had was if they went and ran separately. Taking his lover’s hand in his, he ran. He pulled them from the group without a word.  
       They snuck through countless hallways and through numerous rooms, ascending to the top of the cathedral. The heavy footsteps of the knights in the hallways rung in his ears and his head stung with anxiety but he was determined to escape, he was determined to save Anri, determined to protect them. Looking around, he lifted them up and they climbed onto the stone strut, pulling him up after them.  
       Horace moved forward to take the lead, trying not to look back at Anri he pushed on forward. He knew they would be bitter and sad and to some extent they’d blame the both of them. Horace could feel their eyes burning into him, he could feel their guilt. He quickened his pace and tried to shut out how he felt. He didn’t even realize how fast he was going until Anri took his hand in theirs and he pulled them forward with his halting.  
       “Horace, you won’t leave me,” their gaze was steady, their hand was shaking, and their lips trembled, “not- not like the others.”  
       Half question, half reassurance to themself. He faced them and grabbed their other hand. Meeting their unwavering gaze, he made his promise. With a nod and no words, he swore and oath, an oath he planned on keeping. A knight but only by the oath he swore, he donned a undertaking he wanted to view as devotion. But believing in someone like Anri, as he knew very well, was an act of blind faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally nearing the end of the fic, thank god  
> Why is this chapter so short? I don't know

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading, this is my first fic and it will have multiple chapters so if you liked what you read, hang on for more, hopefully I can keep updates consistent. I know it's not the best, but what can ya do, gotta keep on writing.


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